


Feral

by simmer (lemonpie)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A/B/O in werewolves only, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Werewolf Will Graham, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonpie/pseuds/simmer
Summary: Feraladj.having reverted to the wild state, as from domestication“I’m so hungry,” Will said, looking steadfast at the floor. “All the time.”Because he was looking at the floor he didn't see the way Dr. Lecter was looking at him. It wasn’t a look of concern.“I’m so hungry.” He said again, because he didn’t know how else to describe the feelings in his gut, in his chest. “I want to eat.”(Will Graham is a werewolf. These are all the things that follow.)
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Will Graham's Dogs, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 92





	Feral

**Author's Note:**

> this is set midway through season 1, and diverges from canon around the time will's encephalitis starts to get very bad. werewolves are not common knowledge here other than as folk legends and stories, therefore hannibal doesn't actually know about them. tw for mild body horror! 
> 
> maybe a touch ooc because hannibal is actually Doing Therapy with will kinda but that's neither here nor there. neither of them figure out will is a werewolf because hannibal is too far up his ass and will has himbo disease.
> 
> i am as always seeking a beta reader.

_ Phase: Full Moon  _

This wasn’t sleepwalking. Will knew that only because usually when he sleepwalked, he didn’t shred his clothes or wake up in a puddle of his own blood with no actual wounds to show for it. He wasn’t completely sure where he was, but the air was cool and crisp, and he could hear the sound of a river burbling lazily over stones nearby. 

Sitting up gave him a wave of dizzying vertigo, and he groaned, touching his head. 

Blood rushed in his ears, and it took him several long minutes to be able to lift his head again and look around. The grass under him was stained, and he searched himself for any indication of what could have caused so much blood. All he got was a mostly-healed, bloodied dog bite. He knew dog bites, he’d had plenty, but this was bigger. It wrapped almost entirely around his shoulder. Frowning, he touched it. It wasn’t hot to touch, nor did it hurt particularly much. 

The skin was uncomfortably tight, but otherwise, it felt fine. Mostly healed already, despite the fact that he couldn’t recall getting it. He certainly hadn’t had it yesterday, when he went to bed. Despite that, he felt better than he had in months. Stronger, less exhausted, less  _ sick.  _ Less like he was about to keel over, more like himself. Once the dizziness had passed, he was able to stand up and stretch. 

Though he didn’t recognize his surroundings, he was able to get to the river, and from there, he walked against the flow until he found his usual little fishing clearing. It was easy to orient himself towards home after that, although by then he was a little cold and shaky and  _ hungry.  _ By God, he was so hungry. 

He was just glad that even in his sleepwalking state, he’d thought to close the screen door behind him, so none of his dogs managed to escape. 

“Hey, guys,” He said, surprised at how raspy his voice sounded. “Look, I’m home.” 

They charged him like they always did, and he was pleased for that bit of normalcy. “Alright, alright! I’m gonna have a shower. You lot be good.” They always were, but he always said that. It was part of the routine. 

The shower felt like it was boiling him alive, despite being cool, and he scrubbed himself as fast as he could to avoid the feeling. That awful hunger wasn’t abating in the slightest, so, after drying himself off, he went to make breakfast. 

A part of him urged to eat the sausages before he’d even cooked them, but he wasn’t so stupid as to eat raw meat, especially raw red meat, so he cooked them. All six of them. Usually one or two went to the dogs, but he couldn’t bring himself to let them have any, ignoring their begging for once. 

He ate quickly, chewing minimally, until he finished, fingers coated in grease. He felt better, after. 

Still, there was something wrong. Something deep in his guts that was stirring, something that had long been asleep. Or perhaps something that hadn’t existed, until now. 

“Come on, guys, walk time!” He called, as he stood. The dogs swarmed him, and he smiled, pleased that this, at least, was normal. This was good. He opened the doors and let them run out into the nearby field, barking and yapping at each other, rolling over in the dirt. It made him laugh, to see, as he strolled behind them, Winston at his heels. 

They stayed out for hours, and Will felt peaceful, for a while. He threw sticks and tennis balls, stopped a few fights, and when everyone was exhausted, he opened the door again and let them all in. After making sure they all had plenty of water, and feeding them all - again resisting the urge to eat the chicken raw - he sat himself down on the couch and sighed. 

Now he took the time to peel the shirt away from the bite mark. It was completely healed, but it had scarred horribly. The shape of it was strange, like the beast that had done it had planned to tear out his throat, but had changed its mine last second and bitten down on his shoulder instead. He couldn’t imagine that he would have turned so sharply in his sleep, he knew from being told that he was slow and sluggish while he sleepwalked. 

Gently, he brushed his fingers against it. It felt the way his scars always did, faintly raised, bumpy. And he couldn’t for the life of him remember how he’d gotten it. Part of him, though, that same part of him that demanded he eat the chicken raw, said he had to protect it, never let anyone see it, never let anyone know about it, not now or ever. It had to be hidden, to keep himself safe. 

\---

_ Phase: Waning Gibbous _

“I’m hungry.” 

That was the first thing Will said to Hannibal, when he sat down in the sleek leather chair. It had been two days since he’d woken up with the strange bite mark on his shoulder, and things had only gotten worse since then. He’d felt more irritable, but also more in control of himself. He’d stopped hallucinating, stopped having such god awful nightmares, but he was so  _ hungry.  _ All the time. 

He had his head bowed, his hair falling into his eyes. Making eye contact was even harder than it usually was. Most times, he didn’t have trouble meeting Hannibal’s eyes. Sometimes it was harder, but he always managed. But not now. Now, he couldn’t lift his gaze even if he wanted to.  _ Don’t anger the predator. We’re weak.  _

He didn’t know why he felt so weak, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t, lift his eyes. “I’m hungry, all the time, and I can’t-... I don’t know why.” Swallowing, he looked at his hands. “I feel weak. Physically, I mean. I’m weak, right now, I feel weak.” 

“You feel weak.” Hannibal repeated. Will nodded slowly. “Have you been ill?”  “No? I don’t think I have been. I don’t feel  _ ill,  _ I just feel…” He didn’t know how else to describe it. He could still do all the things he usually could, but something was insisting that he was- “Weak.” 

“Explain more to me about this feeling.” 

But Will couldn’t. He shrugged helplessly. 

“Okay. That’s okay, Will. How’s your sleepwalking?” 

“I haven’t been.” He said, glad to move on. “For the past few days, at least. I haven’t been hallucinating, either.” 

Because his eyes were lowered, he didn’t see the slight downturn of lips from Hannibal that responded to this declaration. “That’s wonderful news, Will.” He said, and Will nodded. 

He wanted to pace, he wanted to get up and move around, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t his territory, it was too dangerous. If he did, Hannibal might take offense, even though he hadn’t before. “It feels like my survival instincts are in overdrive.” He admitted, after a moment or two. “Like I can’t even move without them clamouring at me.” 

“I see.” Hannibal said, and Will fought the urge to shrink back and show his throat. “Do you have any idea why that might be?” 

Will shook his head. 

He could feel the heavy weight of eyes on him. A challenge, but he couldn’t meet it, not now, not yet. He was weak, he was too weak to accept the challenge. 

"Sometimes, after trauma, the mind can be caught in a fight or flight response." Hannibal said, gentling his voice, like Will was a wild animal. Perhaps he was. "It's not uncommon." 

Will swallowed dryly, tried to wet his lips. "Trauma?" He asked hoarsely. "What trauma?" 

"Will," Hannibal said, in that way he did that made Will want to sit up and listen. "Every time you go to a crime scene, that's traumatic. It's traumatic for anyone, but you've never been trained to deal with it." 

"I'm desensitized." 

It was a feeble argument, and not something he even wanted to argue about, but he couldn't help but rebuke it. Trauma was something else. This, what he was dealing with, wasn't trauma. 

"No-one is ever desensitized to tragedy." 

\---

_ Phase: Third Quarter _

"How are you feeling this week, Will?" 

Worse. Will felt awful. He felt as though he could barely leave his house without getting terrified he was going to be attacked and that he was too weak to protect himself, despite the fact that he'd accidentally shattered a mug with his bare hands the other day. It felt as though everything inside of him had shrivelled up and was too exhausted to fight. 

The little voice that he'd learnt was the clamouring rage of his survival instincts demanded that he show no weakness to the enemy predator. 

"Better, a little. I don't feel as exhausted." 

When Hannibal tilted his head for Will to continue, he didn't exactly know what to say. "I've been hungrier." He said. "Maybe I've got a tapeworm or something, I don't know. It feels like no matter how much I eat, it's never enough." 

"Overeating can be common in people with depressive disorders." Hannibal said carefully. "It wouldn't surprise me if you were in the stages of one." 

Will snorted. That wasn't what was wrong with him and he knew it. "Going to have me draw more clocks, Dr. Lecter?" 

"No. But I am going to do a risk assessment." 

As he watched, Hannibal flipped open his notebook, kept always closed until now.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, Will, and I'd like for you to answer them as honestly as you can." 

Will nodded carefully. 

"Have you been bothered in the last week by feelings of hopelessness?" 

"No." 

"Have you had little to no pleasure in doing things you would have previously enjoyed?" 

Will hesitated, squirming a bit. After a pause, he said, "Yes." 

"Have you been bothered by trouble falling or staying asleep, or sleeping too much?" 

"Staying asleep. You knew that one too." 

"Have you been bothered by feeling tired or having very little energy?" 

Another long pause. "Yes." 

"Have you been bothered by poor appetite, or overeating?" 

Will sighed. " _ Yes. _ "

"Have you been bothered by feeling like you are a failure?" 

"What kind of questions are these?" 

Hannibal held up a hand placatingly. "They're standard, Will. I must ask them. Please." 

Heaving another sigh, Will muttered, "Yes." 

"Have you been struggling to concentrate on things, like the television, or a book?" 

"Yes." 

"In the last week, have you had an anxiety attack?" 

"No." 

"How often have you been bothered by feeling nervous, or on edge." 

"All the time." 

"Have you been having trouble relaxing?" 

" _ Hannibal. _ " 

"Okay, okay. Have you been bothered by restlessness?" 

"Frequently." 

"And irritability?" 

" _ Yes. _ "

"Have you felt often that something terrible is going to happen?" 

Will stared at the floor, steadfast. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "Yes." 

There was quiet, for a moment, and then Hannibal looked up at him. Will only knew because he felt those eyes settle onto him like a physical weight. "Will, I'm worried you may be experiencing some symptoms of depression." 

"What gave it away?" 

Here, Will chanced a brief look up. Hannibal was looking at him strangely. It seemed somewhere between worry and an emotion that Will didn't recognize, not consciously, for several long seconds.

Hunger. 

Hannibal looked hungry. 

He dropped his eyes again, fighting the urge to bare his throat. He was too weak, and he'd only get weaker. 

"Your answers to the questions. I've suspected for a while. You're traumatized, Will. A lot of people with trauma end up with depression. It's very common." 

It being  _ very common  _ didn't change the fact that Will knew something else was wrong with him. Still, he couldn't admit that, not here, not now, so he took a deep breath and asked, "What can we do?" 

\---

_ Phase: Waning Crescent  _

Will could barely bring himself to move. As the month dragged on, it felt like he was slowly being pulled underwater. 

"How have you been this week, Will?" 

Even his survival instincts were quiet now. He couldn't look up and meet the eyes of the predator, not while so weak he could barely move, but that was all. There was no screaming that this wasn't his territory, nothing like that. Just an endless, bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to stretch all the way from the tips of his fingers to the very ends of his toes.

"Not good." He managed to say, aware of how dull his voice was but unable to do anything about it. "I want to sleep." 

"How long has this been going on for?" 

Faintly, Will felt his shoulders move up and down in a heaving shrug. He probably couldn't speak if he tried.

"Okay, Will." Hannibal said, and suddenly there were hands on his face and shoulders. "Come on, lay down over here." 

Will was unconscious before he was even fully horizontal, his body too exhausted to hold him afloat. He dreamt of deer. Chasing them through the forest, his body powerful and lean, muscles bunching and extending in rhythm with the heavy beating of his footsteps on the dirt. 

He slept all the day, and when he woke up, it was only because he was being moved. He barely stirred through the entire drive back to Virginia, and therefore was unaware of the concerned glances Hannibal was shooting him every so often. 

Being returned to his bed, in his house, made him calmer. Subconsciously, he knew where he was, and it soothed him very much. Doubly so when his dogs all crowded around him, laying across the bed and curling up by his legs. 

\---

_ Phase: Waxing Crescent  _

“You missed your appointment last week.” 

Will sighed, rubbing his face. “I know, I’m sorry. I was sick.” The truth was he hadn’t been able to move for a few days the week previous without feeling like he was going to throw up. He’d felt dizzy and weak, so much so that even rolling over in bed became a challenge to him. “I’m better now.” 

“Are you certain?” Hannibal asked, looking at him with concern that veiled something else. “I do worry for you, Will.” 

“Yes, I’m certain. I feel much better now. Stronger.” And he did. Not perfect, not back to full strength quite yet, but he would get there, he was sure of that. He was on the mend, he was getting stronger, he would be able to challenge this predator soon. Not yet, but soon. “Promise.” 

He didn’t know what had happened, or why he’d felt so terrible last week, but it was over now, and for that he was grateful. It was hard to be anything else, when he’d barely been able to move. All he could do now was hope that it didn’t happen again. 

Missing his appointments always made him feel bad.

“How are you feeling in relation to the questions I asked you our last session? Irritability, appetite, suchlike?” 

“The eating thing is getting worse. I’m hungrier than I was before, I didn’t even know that was possible. I’m less… Afraid, now. I feel stronger. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.” 

“Does that frighten you?” 

Will actually hesitated, taken aback. “Wouldn’t it scare you?” He asked, and then realized he didn’t actually want to know the answer, because he’d had his suspicions for weeks about Hannibal, about who he was, ever since that first session after waking up with his bite, his instincts all screaming at him to get away get  _ away.  _

Thankfully for him, Hannibal only smiled benignly at him. “There are tests that I can do, and that the hospital can do, but we can only do so much, Will. Do you think there’s a physiological issue here?” 

“I don’t know. You’re supposed to be the doctor.” That smile didn’t make him any more comfortable. “If there were, surely you would have noticed by now.” 

Something flickered in Hannibal’s expression, then, something that Will wouldn’t have seen if he weren’t staring at his nose. “Of course I would have.” He said, but something about it sounded like a lie to Will, who was starting to figure out some things about his doctor. 

“So it’s in my head, then.”

“I think it may be.” 

Will knew, he  _ knew,  _ that it wasn’t. Something was happening to him, something inside him, and it wasn’t going to stop. He didn’t know if he wanted it to stop, but it was the same something that made him keep his bite covered, that refused to let him meet Hannibal’s eyes, that urged him to eat raw meat. 

He probably should mention that. 

“I’ve been getting… Urges.” Will said shortly, changing the subject abruptly. Hannibal was used to that, so he just nodded, letting Will continue. “I want to eat meat. Raw meat. I haven’t, but I want to.” 

Okay,” Hannibal said, brow creasing slightly. “How long has this been going on for?” 

“A few weeks. Not sure exactly.” 

“Urges to eat things you may not normally eat can be a form of pica. Some people eat things that aren’t edible, like paper. Others get cravings like yours. I’m not concerned. So long as you aren’t acting on those urges, you won’t get sick.”

Will nodded slowly, letting that sink in. He didn’t have a form of pica. He knew that, but he accepted it anyway. 

Without knowing exactly what was wrong, he couldn’t figure out what he should say to Hannibal, and what he shouldn’t. 

\---

_ Phase: First Quarter  _

“How are you feeling this week, Will?” 

“Annoyed.” 

It was short, snapped almost. He had been getting his strength back, but with it, his hunger only grew. Going through food so fast was stressing him out, but he couldn’t stop eating. Worse than that, though, was the irritation. Everything that everyone did annoyed him, constantly. 

And the smell of people,  _ God,  _ some people stank so bad he almost threw up. His sense of smell was better than it had ever been, and his hearing too. He could hear the people two floors down having their arguments, which wasn’t something he’d ever wanted. 

“And why is that?” 

“Take a guess.” 

Now,  _ now  _ he was able to meet Hannibal’s eyes, and he did so with a fierceness he could see surprised even the usually unphased doctor. Now he was strong, now he was strong enough to take on this predator and win. 

“You know, Will, media often portrays therapy as having the psychiatrist do the hard word. In reality, the patient is the one doing the work. All I do is provide the space for the work to be done.” 

His irritation was bad in the mornings, but mellowed out by midday, and started to worsen as the night drew in. He was Hannibal’s last patient of the day, and it was winter, so the moon was already rising by the time he left. 

“What’s your point?” He asked, when Hannibal didn’t say anything else. 

“My point is, that I’m not going to guess what has you annoyed. I’d like for you to tell me.” 

Will grit his teeth so hard his jaw popped. “Everything.” He said shortly. “Everything is annoying me. I feel… Restless. Something’s crawling around under my skin and I can’t get it out.” A far cry from his previous lethargy, now Will couldn’t stop moving, not even when he wanted to. Something inside him wanted to get out, and he didn’t know how to let it. 

“You’re having hallucinations again?” 

“No, not like  _ that.  _ It’s more just a feeling.” He tapped himself on the chest. “Here. Like there’s something crouched in there, and I can’t figure out how to let it go.” 

Hannibal nodded, encouraging, but Will didn’t know what else he could say on the matter. “I’m  _ hungry. _ ” He said again, because it was all he could think. There was nothing else but this ungodly, unearthly hunger that cramped his innards and made him think of nothing else but food. “I’m so hungry all the time.” 

“Are you still getting the urges to eat raw meat?” 

“It’s not so much an urge anymore as a… Craving. Constantly. I want it.” He wanted it now. He wanted to dig his teeth into it. “I want it all the time.” 

“You may be anaemic.” Hannibal suggested, but Will shook his head. “No?” 

“I take supplements.” There was a quiet  _ ah  _ of acknowledgement, and then quiet, for a moment. Even that wasn’t quite silent, though. He could hear the clock ticking lazily on the wall, despite never having heard it before. He could hear Hannibal breathing, could hear every time he swallowed. “I think there’s something wrong with me, Dr. Lecter.” 

“I don’t think so, Will. You’re having some troubles, that’s all.” His voice was soothing, as though gentling an animal. For some reason, this comparison was funny to Will. 

He was having some troubles alright. He just didn’t know what they were. 

\---

_ Phase: Waxing Gibbous  _

“Don’t even ask.” 

“Alright, I won’t.” 

Will slumped on the sleek leather chair, his arms crossed, his face set into a scowl. He couldn’t stop moving even then, though, bouncing his knee repetitively. “I feel like shit.” 

“So I see.” 

“I’m  _ itchy.  _ All the time. And no, none of my dogs have fleas, so don’t ask.” He huffed. “It feels like I’m going to break out of my skin. I feel too  _ big. _ ”

“Too big? How so?” 

“For my skin.” He clarified. “Too big for my skin. I can’t stop itching.” 

“Has there been any rashes, or bumps?” Will shook his head. “Hm. And your cravings?” 

Will flushed, heat flooding his cheeks without his say-so.

“Ah.” Hannibal said, nodding. “Have you been sick?” 

“Not at all. I actually felt better for it.” He appreciated not having to actually say out loud that he’d eaten raw chicken with less table manners than his terrier. “I only did it once.” 

“I’m not judging you, Will. It can be difficult to ignore a craving for very long.” It sounded like Hannibal wasn’t judging him, but Will couldn’t help but feel judged anyway. He knew it was wrong, that he wanted it, but he couldn’t help himself. “Anything else?” 

“I’ve been noticing more things.” He said, in lieu of saying  _ I can smell shit from a mile away. Literally.  _ “More observant. People are fascinating.” 

“Indeed.” 

Will hesitated, after that. He didn’t want to ask, not really, because if Hannibal had a suspicion, then that meant that Will was wrong, and this was a psychological issue, and he was actually losing his mind. If he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure which one was worse. “Do you… Have any idea what might be wrong with me?” 

“I have an inkling.” Hannibal nodded, and Will’s heart sank, because he  _ wasn’t  _ lying. “We can get some more tests done by the hospital, but I don’t think they’ll find anything.” 

“So it’s in my head, then?” Will asked, feeling utterly miserable all of the sudden. “That’s all there is to it?” 

“It being in your head doesn’t make it any less real, Will. It’s still a problem that we can solve together.” 

Will took that in for a moment. If it really was all in his head, then why was he so sure it wasn’t? Why was he so sure that there was  _ something  _ else? Something he was missing, something they were both missing? “What do you think it is?” 

“A combination of things, but I think your most pressing issue is an untreated anxiety disorder.” 

“Everyone gets anxious.” 

“Not to the extent you do.” But Will already knew that. He was seeking excuses for something he knew was true. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Will. Some people are more prone to anxiety than others.” 

“And if you’re wrong?” He asked, suddenly more sure of this than he’d ever been of anything in his life. “If it is something wrong with me physically?” 

“Then I accept my wrongdoing, and apologize sincerely for it, and we can figure out a way to make you better.” Which wasn’t really the answer Will wanted, but it was an alright answer, and he had no choice but to accept it.

\---

_ Phase: Full Moon _

Something was going to happen. Something big was swelling in Will’s chest, something like a bad reverb, but worse. He shifted his weight minutely, wishing not for the first time that he wasn’t Hannibal’s last patient of the day. 

“-Will?” 

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” He shook his head. “Just… Distracted.” His bones were moving, preparing for something. He was itchy under his skin. “What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important. You look ill.” He didn’t feel ill. He felt stronger than he had in weeks. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I feel…” How did he feel? He wasn’t sure. “Hungry.” That made Hannibal smile a little. “Not surprising, I know.” A ripple ran up his spine, tightened his guts, caught his breath in his chest. Almost, but not yet. 

“Is it better or worse than usual?” Will shrugged. “About the same, then?” 

The air felt tense.  _ He  _ felt tense. It was almost here. The moon was shining so brightly through the window that it took Will’s breath away. 

No- It wasn’t the moon taking his breath away. He actually couldn’t breathe. His lungs cramped, his chest spasmed, and he doubled over, wheezing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal stand, start towards him, and he reared back in alarm. 

It made his spine crack violently, and it  _ hurt,  _ God, it hurt worse than anything he could recall, worse than anything he’d ever experienced in his entire life. It snapped and shifted, getting longer maybe, he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t tell. Over the ringing in his ears, he could just about hear Hannibal calling out to him, but that didn’t matter. There was no stopping it now. 

His hips were next, and he fell out of the chair as they shattered and reformed entirely. His legs snapped and twisted and lengthened, as did his arms. His fingers folded in, and his face cracked and shifted. Every inch of his skin itched so terribly, but that was secondary under the pain. 

Despite all of his attempts to keep quiet, as his entire rib cage moved, he couldn’t help but let out a howl of agony. It started more human than anything, a sound of pure torment, but as it continued, it, too, cracked and shifted, down the scale, warping, becoming something else, something  _ other. _

Like he was becoming something other. 

New muscles grew as old ones shifted or melted away entirely. His jaw ached as teeth pushed through. Caught in an uncomfortable middle ground, he lay on the wooden floor, twitching, unable to think through the torture. Then it continued, and he could only howl again, eyes slammed shut under the onslaught. Claws ripped free of his fingers as his skin shifted and prickled. 

When it was over, when it was finally, finally over, he lay there, on the floor, panting. Such agony would usually soak him in sweat, but all he felt was strangely warm. 

After a long time, he wasn’t sure how long, he heard a voice, familiar to him, gentle, ask, “Will?” 

  
Will opened his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment/kudos if you liked! i read every comment i get, even if i dont respond to it!!


End file.
